


Snippets from Godric's Hollow

by athenaharmony



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awesome Molly Weasley, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fred Weasley Lives, Friends to Lovers, Godric's Hollow, Healer Harry Potter, Molly Weasley is Harry's Unofficial Mom, Nymphadora Tonks Lives, Post-Hogwarts, Remus Lupin Lives, Rewrite, Romantic Fluff, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenaharmony/pseuds/athenaharmony
Summary: On a chilly evening in Godric's Hollow, Harry returns home to discover a distraught Hermione on his doorstep. Her carefully-planned life has just been upended and she has no place to go, so he gives her one. Thus begins the story of a new life in a little house in Godric's Hollow, told in episodic snippets as the pair discover how much more their friendship could be. Romance, fluff, and family fun ensue. Step into this old house, and enjoy!*Work in progress previously posted on Fanfiction.net. This version has been rewritten for style. Any new content will be posted here.*





	1. On Your Doorstep

Harry pulled his cloak more tightly around himself against the uncharacteristically nippy breeze as he popped back into existence behind a plump evergreen tree. He was surrounded by a little stand of them—a safe Apparation spot in the little town of Godric's Hollow, blanketed in several Muggle-repelling charms. All the same, he peeked out from between the branches to scan the area before stepping out into the open.

Luckily, he did not expect to be out in the cold for very long. The walk to the house that had once belonged to his mother and father was fairly short, as all walks in Godric's Hollow tended to be. The streets were fairly deserted, for which he was grateful, since he had received more than a few confused and slightly worried looks from the residents on his last few visits. He supposed it was the cloak that did it, since none of the people currently living in the little town knew who he was, at least to his knowledge. It was one of the many reasons for which he loved the place.

As he rounded the last bend on the way to the house, he frowned in confusion and slowed his pace. A large object sat on the doorstep of what would soon be his new home, and he was quite sure that he had not left anything there on his last trip. The renovations he had undertaken on the old place were nearly complete, and it had recently been looking much tidier than it had for the past few months. His wand sat at his belt, carefully concealed in a leather holster, and he rested his hand on it under his cloak as he approached. Who was leaving things on his doorstep when no one in the magical world besides a few close friends knew of his plans to move? 

Within a few steps, he sighed at himself and relaxed. The thing was not a thing at all, but a person, and a familiar one at that. He quickened his pace again, and the crunch of his shoes on the gravel walkway drew the attention of the figure sitting hunched on the front steps.

"Harry!" Hermione cried. Before Harry could comprehend what was going on, she had bounded off the steps and had her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. It took him a few seconds to realize that her cheeks were damp with tears.

"Hermione?" he said, bewildered and alarmed. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I'm so stupid!" she declared into his shoulder. She was shaking, he realized, and he quickly wrapped his arms around her to steady her. "I've been so stupid, Harry," she added more quietly. "I've ruined everything."

"What are you talking about?" He gently shifted her off of his shoulder to get a proper look at her. Her eyes were red, standing out in sharp contrast to her pale face. He understood that she had been crying long before he arrived. "Here," he said, rummaging around in his pockets for a handkerchief.

"I quit," she said. Her voice trembled on the second word, as though she was afraid to say it aloud. She accepted the handkerchief and swiped at her eyes. "God, Harry, I just walked out on Auror training. I've never quit anything in my life, I-"

"Okay," he said, cutting her off before she could work herself up again. "Okay. Tell me what happened." He could not believe what he was hearing. He had never seen Hermione give up on anything in more than seven years, not even when he had been convinced that she would, during the months they had spent freezing and starving half to death on their Horcrux hunt.

She sighed and put her head back down on his shoulder.

"Nothing monumental, really," she murmured. "I had to take a break from running laps, and my trainer yelled at me for it, which is hardly new, but... I was exhausted, and everything hurt so badly, and I just snapped." She took a shaky breath. "I really let him have it, screaming and swearing and everything, which I'm sure was very amusing for everyone watching, but once I'd finished, I realized there was no way I was coming back after what I'd said. So I quit before I ended up getting fired, to keep whatever dignity I had left."

She returned to her seat on the front steps and drew her knees up to her chest.

"It was such a ridiculous thing to do," she muttered, "but I couldn't stop once I got started. I couldn't take the constant criticism anymore." A single tear rolled down her cheek as Harry joined her on the cold cement. "Isn't that pathetic? All my life, I've never given up on anything, and now I turn around and walk out on my career because it's _too hard_."

She spat the words in a self-deprecating voice that Harry had never heard, and he reached for her again, placing one hand on her back in a desperate attempt to support her.

"'Mione..." he began before he realized that he had no idea what he planned to say. He fell silent for a few moments before managing, "Look, Hermione, everyone has a breaking point. Maybe..." He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Maybe you aren't meant to do _everything_ , you know? Maybe you've just found out that being an Auror wasn't the best choice for you."

She sniffled and wiped her eyes again before putting her head down on her knees.

"Maybe, but... I just wanted it so badly."

"I know you did," he assured her, lightly patting her back. "Everyone knows you did, and we all watched you running yourself ragged trying to make it happen. No one's going to think that you quit because you were lazy, or you didn't want to make the effort," he added, knowing that she would worry. "None of us could ever think that about you. We all know how hard these past few months have been on you—it shows, you know—and honestly... Well, some of us have actually been wondering if you might be better off doing something else."

She looked at him for a long moment.

"Have you, now?" she said. He rubbed the back of his neck again, feeling uncomfortable. Her tone was not accusing, but she clearly knew that "some of us" meant him, and he felt a sudden twinge of guilt, as though he had been the only one in their little group of friends who had not had complete faith in her.

"It just bothers me to see you looking so run-down," he said awkwardly, deciding to abandon the ghostly figures he had aligned with himself and just tell her the truth. He hated lying to her, and there was really no point doing it when she already knew that he was. "I know that Auror training is really hard work and that it's normal for people to need time to adapt, but... Well, maybe it's just a Healer thing," he said, trying to make light of his worries, "but you've lost a lot of weight since you started, and you'd barely gained enough back after the War to begin with, not to mention that you've looked exhausted every time I've seen you..." Not knowing what else to do, he shrugged and studied his shoes, too embarrassed to look at her properly. "It isn't healthy, and I've been worried about you, is all. I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to think I didn't believe in you."

She nodded but said nothing. They were quiet for a few minutes. The wind picked up, swirling around them on the cold doorstep, and Harry took off his cloak and wrapped it around Hermione's shoulders. He had his Healer's robes on, after all, while she had only the white t-shirt and deep purple jogging pants that made up her training uniform. His cloak turned out to be more than large enough to wrap around her small body, proving his point about her weight loss. They had both been left badly underweight at the end of the War, months of constant stress and minimal food taking their toll, and she had only just reached a healthy weight for someone her age—primarily thanks to Molly—when the rigours of Auror training had taken off half of what she had regained. The thought of the continuous duelling and strenuous physical training she had to endure when she was barely clinging to her health alarmed Harry, particularly since he had started his own training as a Healer.

"Thanks," she murmured, pulling the cloak around herself.

"Anytime." After a moment, he could not stand the silence any longer. "'Mione?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry, you know, if I said something stupid just now. I didn't really know what to say."

She shook her head.

"You didn't say anything stupid, Harry. You've actually made a good point."

"Have I?" he asked, relieved.

She nodded.

"You weren't wrong. About how I've felt the last few months, I mean." She tucked her hair behind one ear. "I'm ashamed of what I've done, and I imagine it'll take me a while to come to terms with it, but... Well, maybe it's better this way. I haven't been doing well lately. Physically or emotionally, not that you want to talk about my feelings," she said, managing a wan grin.

"I would if it would help you feel better," he offered, a little desperately.

"It's all right." She reached out and twined her fingers with his. "I won't put you through that, at least not right now. I just... I just need to think about what's next. I need to figure out what I'm going to do." She shivered despite the cloak. "I've got a little money saved up, but it won't be enough to keep my room at the Cauldron for much longer. I suppose I'll have to move back in with my mum and dad, and won't that be fun? They mean well, but they don't understand why I won't go to university and get a _proper education_. This will just throw fuel on that fire."

Harry frowned. Hermione was beating herself up enough as it was. The last thing she needed was anyone making her feel guiltier about what she had done, even if it came from good intentions.

"Stay with me," he blurted as the thought occurred to him. She looked at him quizzically.

"Sorry?"

"Stay with me," he repeated as he worked it out in his head. "The house isn't huge, but it's more than big enough for two people, and I could really use your help getting it set up," he said with a nod at the front door behind them. "You're better at magic than I am—you are," he insisted when she opened her mouth. "Things would go a lot faster with you around, and you would have somewhere to stay until you're back on your feet. It would be good for both of us, wouldn't it?"

She considered that for a moment.

"It wouldn't make you uncomfortable," she finally asked, "living with a girl?"

He shrugged.

"It's not like we haven't lived together before, and that was in a tent." His lips quirked. "You've already seen me in my pyjamas. I don't expect there's much else to be uncomfortable about. What about you? Would it bother you to live with a boy?"

She shook her head.

"You've already seen me in my pyjamas, too," she said with a slight grin. "I suppose you're right: we managed to live in a tent for several weeks without killing each other. I'm sure we could manage to get along in a house."

"So that's settled, then," he said. "You can stop worrying."

"Thanks, Harry," she murmured, giving his hand a firm squeeze. "Really. I swear I'll make it up to you someday."

He returned the pressure on her hand.

"'Mione, I owe you my life several times over," he pointed out softly. "The least I can do is keep a roof over your head and make sure you have enough to eat. Speaking of which," he added before she could say anything else, "you're cold, and it's well past supper time now. Let's get you home and see if Tom can find you some of his famous pea soup, hm?" He felt heartened when her lips quirked into a tentative grin. "Hm?"

Finally, she chuckled softly. A wave of tension that Harry had not even noticed flowed out of his body, leaving him relieved. Somehow, he had managed to help.

"All right," she agreed. "But I'm not eating any of that soup until you do."

He smiled as he helped her up from the steps.

"Fine, if it doesn't eat me first."

She laughed as they set off for the plump evergreens in the distance.


	2. Housewarming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione arrives in Godric's Hollow. Harry reflects on the nature of the old house, and on changes to come.

Opening the front door of the little house in Godric's Hollow was always a bittersweet experience for Harry. It was good, very good, to return to the place where he had once lived with his mother and father, even if he could not consciously remember that short, precious time. He felt a connection to the house, a sort of visceral familiarity, although the best he could do was to piece together a scrap of his early life from even smaller scraps of remembrance that came to him in dreams every now and then. He could not even be sure that these were real and not simply the fabrications of a lonely child's imagination, concocted by a merciful mind to get him through the darkest hours of nights spent staring at the peeling paint on the underside of a flight of stairs, but they stirred a comforting warmth within him all the same.

However, to step into the house was to step onto the floor where his father had once lain motionless after his brave but brief attempt to protect his wife and infant son. To climb the stairs was to place his feet in the ghostly tracks of Snape and Voldemort, both of whom had gone upstairs in search of his mother, albeit for vastly different reasons. A touch of his hand on the front doorknob sent spirits swirling around him and evoked a strange mixture of love and grief. He longed to settle into the home that had been meant to be his family's, but the emotions it kindled within him sometimes gave rise to an urge to turn and run away, to the point where he had to pause and take a quiet breath before he could push the door open. Each time he visited the house, his desire to live alongside his parents' memory was a little stronger, but his grief still shook him.

Whether Hermione noticed his discomfort as she followed him inside was unclear, but she did pause in silence for a moment after she gently placed her bag on the floor. She scanned the living room, taking everything in and, he knew, quietly tucking it away somewhere in her mind, to be pulled out and analyzed later.

"It's a lovely old place," she said at last. Her voice was softer than usual, as though they stood in a church instead of an old, slightly run-down house. Harry, Remus, and the Weasley men had already repaired the worst of the structural damage caused by time and bored teenagers, but there were no traces of decorating to speak of, no signs of fresh colour or new life in sight. In fact, he realized, they had probably made the old place look even worse, tramping around as they patched up holes and replaced broken floorboards, tracking dirt onto the carpets and smudging the walls with their fingerprints.

He was pulled from his thoughts when she turned to him and asked, in a brighter voice, "So, where do you want me to sleep?"

Never having had houseguests before, he was caught off-guard by the question.

"Er... Anywhere you want, really," he said, glancing around as though a bed would pop up from the living room floor if he focused his gaze on the right spot. "I don't have one picked out yet."

She gave him a curious look.

"Well, it's your house, so you'll be wanting the master bedroom, won't you?" she asked as though it was obvious.

"Yeah..." he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Something had occurred to him, but he feared it would sound weird or stupid. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

She continued to look at him for a few moments before something changed in her face. Her expression softened as she said, "Oh. Oh, I see."

He felt his face warm a little. "What?"

"You want your old room back, don't you?" she asked gently, and his blush promptly intensified.

"Well, I don't have my heart set on it or anything," he said quickly. "I... I guess it's kind of stupid for a grown man to sleep in a nursery anyway, isn't it?" Suddenly, the whole idea felt awkward and embarrassing. "I mean, there are still little pictures of Snitches on the walls. Never mind, it's not important."

"Harry," she said, placing a hand on his arm, "it absolutely is important, and if that's what you want, you should do it." When he continued to look unsure, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "God knows you'd like little Snitches on your walls, anyway."

He managed a smile, glad that she understood.

"Well, if that's settled," she continued, picking up her bag again, "is there another room besides the master I could take?"

It was Harry's turn to give her a quizzical look.

"The master's the biggest," he said. "Don't you want that one?"

He was surprised when she looked uncomfortable.

"It was your parents' room, Harry," she said. "I'm not about to go barging in there..."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Really. I bought this place so that people could live in it. I want you to treat it like a home."

Despite what some people might think, despite what he knew his closest friends had feared when he had announced that he intended to purchase the old house, he had no intention of living forever among the broken remains of the family life that had been taken from him, wandering through the empty rooms and wondering what had happened in each one. He intended to remember his mother and father here, and had certainly chosen to continue his life where it had begun in order to feel closer to them, but he had no desire to spend his life surrounded by graying walls and the ghosts of people he would never see again. He wanted a fresh start, to cover the walls with fresh paint and pictures of his smiling friends, to add new memories to the old ones and replace the ghosts with cheerful spirits.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he assured her. "Come on; I'll show you where the master is. It's just a bed and a dresser with white walls around them at this point, but we'll take care of that soon enough." Indeed, all of the walls were white, painted by Arthur as he moved through the house patching holes. The only exception was Harry's old nursery, which had been surprisingly intact. There, time and the elements had faded the paint, but the faint outline of little Snitches—presumably painted by a young Lily Potter—remained. The whole house was like a blank canvas, waiting for someone to breathe life into it.

"Here we are," he said, gently pushing the door to the master bedroom open. The room was fairly large and brightly lit, with Saturday sunlight streaming through the large windows. Outside, a small group of young boys played football in the street, undisturbed by any traffic.

He followed Hermione into the room and the two of them took a seat on the edge of the new mattress that sat in the frame of a large bed that had once belonged to his parents. It was only then that it occurred to him that none of the beds in the house was actually made. He would have to snag some blankets from Grimmauld Place until he and Hermione took care of buying proper bedding. It was the sort of thing that she would have thought to arrange, he mused as she sat down beside him.

"I'm really going to need your help to fix this place up," he told her.

She managed a small smile. She had been quiet and reserved ever since she had turned up on his doorstep three days earlier. He knew she was still beating herself up over impulsively walking out on Auror training.

"You'll have it," she said, "considering it'll be my only job for the forseeable future."

Her tone was the familiar, self-deprecating one of the past few days, and he wanted to offer some sort of reassurance that things were going to be all right, but she spoke before he could think of anything to say.

"We'll make it nice, Harry, I promise," she said.

She looked around at the blank walls, and just like in the living room, he could almost hear the wheels in her mind turning as she evaluated the space.

"It'll be a home again," she continued, "the way it should have been all this time. Don't you think?"

When she turned back to him, there was an energetic sparkle in her eyes that had not even flickered there in the past several months, at least. Abruptly, it occurred to him that he had not been entirely useless on that chilly night on the doorstep after all. He had given her a project, something tangible to work on, something that she could organize and about which she could be generally Hermione-like. Proud of himself, he offered her a smile.

"It'll be great," he agreed.

Perhaps it was only his imagination, but for the first time since he had stepped into Godric's Hollow, he felt fully relaxed. The spirits still flitted around him, to be sure, but their presence was more uplifting than discomfiting now. It was as though they had heard her, he mused, and it had quieted them, so that they no longer buffeted him unexpectedly but instead settled contentedly into the corners of the room around him. On a grateful impulse, he leaned over and gently brushed his lips against her cheek. She went a bit pink, her hand coming up to touch the spot.

"What was that for?" she asked.

He was not sure he could explain it to her.

"Just because," he said. "Come on," he added to change the subject, "I'm hungry. Let's have lunch. The kitchen's already stocked; it would be a waste not to take advantage of it."

She continued to look at him for a moment, and he felt another blush starting to creep up on his face before she finally smiled softly and let her hand fall away from her cheek.

"Trust you to bring the food before the bedding," she said.

"You can't eat bedding," he replied matter-of-factly as he stood up and offered her his hand, which she accepted with a chuckle.

"I suppose not," she said. "You're right: lunch would be wonderful. We'll have ourselves a little housewarming party."

He grinned as they left the bedroom and headed downstairs to the kitchen. All around him, the spirits murmured happily in agreement. "Housewarming" was just the right word.


	3. A Splash of Colour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione spend the day painting the master bedroom. Harry reflects on his friendships. Shenanigans--and something else--ensue.

It was funny the way things sometimes worked out, Harry mused. When he, Ron, and Hermione had left The Burrow to set out on their own after the War, he had feared that he and his friends would drift apart as adult friends so often did, falling into a pattern of hastily-penned, empty letters and awkward annual Christmas reunions where they would realize that they no longer knew one another. Instead, he found himself seated on the plastic-covered floor of the house that had once belonged to his parents, contemplating a can of crimson paint as he listened to Hermione's soft, cheerful whistling.

She sat cross-legged on the floor only a few feet from him, touching up the white paint around the baseboards on the wall that they had painted after supper the previous evening. Her small frame was wrapped in one of his old plaid shirts, her curls shepherded into a messy tail to keep them out of the paint, and she looked properly happy for the first time in a long while. He had not seen her in such a good mood since she had turned up on his doorstep a fortnight earlier. She had approached the project of molding the house into a home with her characteristic determination, and Harry's move into Godric's Hollow had been accomplished much faster with her help, but she had remained withdrawn through most of it. He knew she was still working through the shame she felt after stepping off her meticulously planned career path and into uncharted territory. It was good to see her relaxed and whistling, as though she had given herself permission to forget about her uncertain future for a little while.

"I know we're magical and everything, but that wall still isn't going to paint itself, you know," she informed him, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked up from the circle of paint in the can in front of him and found her looking at him with an amused half-grin on her lips. "Funny how you only end up deep in thought when you're supposed to be doing something productive," she teased him.

He made a wounded face at her.

"Ouch," he said as he picked up the can of paint and carefully poured it into a tray. On impulse, he dipped a fingertip into the paint and flicked it at her in retaliation. He grinned when she gave what seemed like a genuinely scandalized gasp and looked down at the drops that had appeared on her chest.

"This is _your_ shirt, you know. You're going to ruin it!" she protested. He shrugged.

"You keep saying I need a new wardrobe anyway," he pointed out. This time, he dipped all four fingers into the paint tray and flicked them at her, leaving lines of little crimson droplets that stretched down to her abdomen.

She seemed to consider that for a moment before a wicked grin spread on her lips.

"Well, in that case..." she said. Using her brush, she spread the white paint over her own fingertips, and Harry found himself looking as though he had stepped out into a gentle snow. He chuckled and, with a burst of inspiration, pressed his entire palm into the tray of paint before scooting over and stamping his handprint onto her back. Laughing now, she twisted to examine the deep purplish-red mark that stood in sharp contrast to the blue plaid shirt.

"Oh, you've done it now, Potter," she declared, and with that, she spread both of her hands with paint and lunged at him, imprinting her hands in stark white on both of his shoulders and taking both of them to the floor. A lively wrestling match ensued, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional squeal from Hermione. Harry was certain that it would be an easy win for him, but he promptly discovered that the little of her Auror training that she had completed had done her good. There was remarkable strength hidden in her small frame. Every time he was sure that he had the upper hand, she managed to break free and reverse their positions, deftly sweeping his legs out from under him or getting a knee between them to flip him over. He would marvel, later, that they managed to avoid overturning the two cans of paint and the tray on the floor.

Finally, the deciding factor was the simple difference in their heights and weights, and in the confusion of their friendly tussle, he ended up fully on top of her, both of them laughing breathlessly as she finally slumped against the floor and conceded defeat. They were heavily splattered with paint, each of them having taken every opportunity to get their hands into whichever can of paint was close by. Without thinking, he used his thumb to gently wipe away a smear of the crimson paint from her cheek.

She went quiet and still, and suddenly Harry became acutely aware of the reality of their position, of the softness of the flushed skin under his fingertips and the fact that she was leaning slightly into his touch. He quickly pulled his hand away, but that did little to help the fact that he was still fully on top of her.

"Paint," he explained, showing her his thumb.

Her lips quirked.

"You, too," she said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek in turn as she gently wiped the paint away.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Anytime." Her hand was still on his face, and it occurred to him that he had no desire for her to take it away. He looked down at her, unsure of what to do next, and found her looking right back up at him. Her face was still a bit pink, and he wondered if it was due to the exertion of their wrestling match or to the position in which they found themselves. After a moment, she dropped her hand back down to her side.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" He was surprised when it came out as a squeak, and he cleared his throat quickly, trying very hard to ignore the fact that for the first time in his life, he wanted, very badly, to kiss Hermione. He had pecked her on the cheek from time to time over the past few weeks, certainly, to comfort her when words could not in the moments when her mood took an especially dark turn, and to thank her for all of the work she was doing to turn the old house into a new home for the two of them, but this was not the same. Once or twice, while giving her one of those friendly kisses on the cheek, he had very nearly brushed his lips against hers when she had turned her head unexpectedly, and he had felt some interest then, a desire to know how she would react to such a gesture, but never before had he felt this sense of certainty that he would never forgive himself if he let the moment go to waste.

"You're... Kind of still on top of me," she said.

"Er..." He felt his face go red. "Yeah, ah..."

The obvious solution, of course, was for him to move, but the prospect was very unattractive. Instead, he reached for her again, resting his hand against her cheek, which still sported a touch of paint.

"'Mione?"

"Yes?"

It comforted him when her voice trembled slightly. She was unsure of what was happening between them, too. He lightly ran his thumb over her bottom lip, the subject of much contemplation over the past few seconds, and felt his mouth go dry as he said, "Would you be really upset with me if-?"

"No," she cut him off.

He bit his lip.

"No, you wouldn't be upset, or no, you don't want me to...?"

He felt a wave of relief when a smile spread across her lips.

"No, I wouldn't be upset," she said quietly.

Under the paint-splattered fabric of his shirt, Harry's pulse spiked. Surprise, nervousness, excitement, and the sudden opening of an entirely new realm of possibilities had his heart beating so hard that he thought it unbelievable that she could not see it.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really. In fact..." It was her turn to bite her lip uncertainly. "Well, it would make me very happy if you did," she admitted.

"Oh," he said. The understanding of what she meant hit him a moment later, and his already racing heart seemed to skip a couple of beats. Hermione, his best friend of so many years, felt that way about him? "Oh, wow."

They lapsed into silence for several long seconds, neither one of them making the first move. It was the first time, Harry realized, that he was supposed to be the one actually doing the kissing. He was used to having girls do the deed and then just going along with it. He wet his lips uncertainly. He wanted to kiss her, very much so, but he struggled to actually do it with almost a decade of being adamantly "just friends" behind them.

"Is... everything okay?" she finally asked, her face reddening under his hand. "I mean, if you don't want to-"

"I do," he said quickly. "God, I do, it's just... I haven't really done this before."

Her expression softened, and he felt her relax a little.

"Oh, Harry," she said. "D'you want some help?"

A nervous laugh escaped him, and he felt heartened when it brought a little grin to her face. She understood. Thank God, she did.

"That would be great," he said. He felt her hand slide around the back of his neck, and she gently pulled him down to her.

"Better?" she asked. He was close enough now to feel her warm breath against his lips.

"Yeah, loads," he murmured, and the next few minutes dissolved into a pleasant blur as he finally closed the distance between them.


	4. A Spirited Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione enjoy a quiet moment at home. Things are looking up for Hermione, and the pair talk about what's to come.

The living room was silent except for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall and the much more spontaneous pops and cracks of the cheery fire in the hearth. Harry reclined on the couch in the centre of the room, his back resting against one corner and his feet almost touching the opposite armrest, warm and comfortable under an emerald green blanket as he scanned the pages of the heavy book that rested in his lap. Hermione had developed a bit of a cough over the past few days, and while it did not seem serious, he thought it best to refresh his memory with a quick glance through his medically-oriented potions textbooks in case it worsened abruptly. He had levitated three volumes down from the study upstairs, preferring the coziness of the couch to the study's straight-backed desk chair.

Besides, the study was not quite finished yet, despite Hermione's constant work on it. The living room, on the other hand, had been one of the first rooms that they had completed in the six weeks since he and Hermione had moved in. Instead of the stark white that Arthur had used to cover his repairs, the walls were now a deep shade of forest green that coordinated nicely with the blanket covering his legs, and the old furniture had been reupholstered in thick, soft fabric in shades of brown. Harry loved the comfortable, homey feeling of the room and spent much of his time there, given that his own bedroom had not yet benefitted from Hermione's attention.

The chocolate-brown curtains on the big picture window were pulled to either side of the glass, allowing Harry a pretty view of the little town outside, which was now gaily bedecked in twinkling red, green, and gold Christmas lights. Wreaths hung from each streetlight, and the centre of town looked especially festive under crisscrossed garlands. The grass and streets were still stubbornly snow-free despite the fact that it was early December, but the dip that the temperature had taken over the past few days held promise for flurries soon.

Harry's happy contemplation of the world outside his living room window was cut short by a whoop from upstairs, which surprised him so much that he dropped his book. It hit the floor with a solid thud.

"'Mione?" he called. "Is everything all right up there?"

There was no answer from upstairs, but he did hear the rapid thumping of footfalls on the steps before someone with wildly curly brown hair quite literally jumped on him, nearly knocking him off the couch and taking both of them to the floor. Whatever protest Harry could have managed in his shock was quickly silenced by the pair of soft lips suddenly pressed firmly against his. There was nothing rational to do, he thought, but to respond to the gesture appropriately until things started to make a little more sense.

After a few moments, the lips pulled back from his. Whatever disappointment he might have felt at the end of a very pleasurable break from his textbooks promptly faded away as he took in the sight of the grinning, flush-faced witch who had unexpectedly taken up residence on top of him.

"I got it!" she announced, nuzzling his nose in clear delight. "Can you believe it?"

"Got what?" he asked, bewildered. For the first time, he noticed that she had a folded sheet of parchment in one hand.

"That job at Flourish and Blott's, remember?" Her lips quirked again. "I've only been talking about it for the past three weeks, Harry."

"Oh, right," he said a little sheepishly. He did remember the job. He had even looked over and praised the cover letter she had submitted with her application, and had spent one early morning trying to persuade her to at least eat some toast before her interview. He grinned up at her. "That's excellent."

"Isn't it?" she agreed. "I was so sure that I wouldn't get it; it's just too perfect, but maybe I had a lucky break coming."

She pecked him on the lips again and gently nudged him over on the couch so that she could settle in next to him. It did not take them long to find a comfortable position, considering the number of times they had shared the couch over the past few weeks. Harry was not quite sure how to describe the change that had taken place in their relationship. They were not "seeing each other," per se, given that they already lived under the same roof and saw each other on a daily basis, nor were they "dating," since he had not actually taken her on any official "dates." 

He supposed that he could call her his girlfriend if someone asked him about it, but they had not agreed on any specifics regarding the aftermath of what had happened while they were painting the master bedroom. All he knew was that she had not smacked him for kissing her that day, nor had she seemed averse to kissing him several times a day after that, and that she seemed more than happy to settle in beside him on the couch in the evenings, talking or just taking a moment to rest after a long day of painting and arranging furniture.

She sighed contentedly and idly traced a pattern on his chest with a fingertip. Realizing that the blanket was still partially draped over him after Hermione's energetic arrival, he shifted it so that it covered her as well. In an old house that relied on fireplaces for heat, her added warmth under the blanket felt particularly good.

"Do you suppose I would be good at breaking up fights?" she asked.

He blinked and gave her a curious look.

"Well, you've always done well keeping Ron and me from murdering each other, and you put up a hell of a fight in our little paint battle, so I suppose so, but why?"

She grinned at him.

"It's in the job description," she explained. "I expect I'll have to separate quite a few desperate parents when the back-to-school rush rolls around."

She turned away for a moment to cough into the crook of her arm before settling her head down on his chest. He frowned and placed a hand between her shoulders so that he could rub her back.

"That cough doesn't sound good."

She rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Harry, for the millionth time, I feel perfectly fine," she said. "I've been inhaling dust and paint fumes for the past six weeks, if you recall. It's just a bit of a cough. You can keep doing that if you like, though," she added, stretching her back a little under his hand.

"Still," he insisted. "Maybe I should make you something for it before it gets any worse."

He started to get up, but barely managed to raise his head before she wrapped an arm around him, pinning him where he lay.

"Hey," she protested, "don't leave when I've only just got comfortable." When he settled back down, she gave him a squeeze. "Honestly. You could at least give your girlfriend a few minutes of celebratory cuddling."

He blinked in surprise for the second time that evening.

"So you're my girlfriend now, are you?" he asked, trying to sound casual. She looked up at him with a touch of worry in her expression.

"Aren't I?" she asked in the same falsely casual tone. "I mean, with the way things have been between us for the past few weeks, I just thought..."

Alarm bells went off in Harry's head when she pushed herself up and away from him to take a seat on the end of the couch.

"Maybe I assumed more than I should have," she said, a little too quickly. "It's okay, you know, if you don't want-"

"No," Harry cut her off, sitting up as well. "No, no. Things between us have been great, and... Well, I _would_ like you to be my girlfriend." He felt himself go pink at that, but pressed on. "It's just that we hadn't made it, you know, official or anything... I didn't want to assume, either."

"Oh." She relaxed visibly and offered him a small smile. "Well, I'd certainly like you to be my boyfriend, too." She could not hide her blush any better than he could, and she settled back into his arms gratefully when he reached for her. "Honestly, what kind of woman do you take me for?" she asked lightly. "Do you think I just go around kissing men I'm not serious about?"

Relieved, he proved her point by kissing her. It felt amazing to be able to do it without any lingering doubts about where they stood as a couple.

"I don't suppose you do, no," he agreed, "but..."

He trailed off, unsure that he wanted to bring up the thought that had just occurred to him.

"But what?" she prompted.

"It's just..." He sighed, knowing that he was about to make himself sound like an idiot. "It's just that I'm rubbish at this stuff. Relationships and feelings and all that," he clarified. "And... Well, really, Hermione, you deserve someone who's going to be able to do things right, who isn't going to say stupid things and hurt you, or mess up the important stuff. That probably isn't me."

There was a short silence.

"Harry," Hermione eventually said, "did it ever occur to you that I'm just as clueless about relationships as you are? I've never been in one before, after all. I'll probably make my share of mistakes. And besides," she added when he opened his mouth to protest, "I'm not expecting you to sweep me off my feet and carry me into the sunset. We're both human beings—I'm not expecting some kind of fairytale where we never stumble or mess things up. I just..." She tucked her hair behind her ear and took his hand. "I care about you, Harry. I have for a long time, and I'd like to be with you as a partner, instead of just as a friend." She glanced at him. "If that's something you're interested in trying, that is."

He gave her hand a squeeze.

"I am," he said. "I have no idea what I'm doing, but I do want to try. I... care about you, too, you know," he managed, though he had to look away, feeling his cheeks prickle. "We've always got on well, and these past few weeks have been... Well, they've been great. Kind of scary," he said with a slight grin, "but great."

She chuckled at his side.

"That's one way of putting it." Leaning over, she kissed his cheek. "So, we'll try, Harry. That's all I want."

"Okay." He offered her a smile that he hoped looked brave. "Okay. I can do that."

With that, he put an arm around her shoulders and settled back down on the couch, taking her with him. He had been enjoying their impromptu cuddle and was not quite ready to let it go yet. She seemed to feel the same way, as she drew the blanket back up over them and rested her head on his chest again. They were quiet for a few minutes, content with each other's company and the relief that they both felt after finally clarifying things between them, before he felt her smile.

"Look," she said, "it's snowing."

He shifted a little to look out the window. Fat snowflakes were drifting lazily past the glass before landing gently on the lawn, making it look as though someone had had a pillow fight outside.

"I hope it stays," she went on. "Do you remember how beautiful it was the first time we came here?"

Harry had been somewhat preoccupied on that first trip, but he did remember snippets of the scenery. He remembered enjoying the way that the Muggle Christmas lights had cast little pools of coloured light on the blanket of snow. The sharp contrast of Hermione's wreath of roses against the pure whiteness was particularly clear in his mind.

"I remember," he said. He twined his fingers with hers on his chest as a thought occurred to him. "'Mione?"

"Mm?"

"Maybe we should... you know... go and visit my parents again soon," he suggested quietly. She gave his fingers a squeeze.

"You want me to go with you?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "I never introduced you properly last time. I know it probably seems stupid," he murmured, feeling his face warm a little. "I mean, they aren't actually able to hear me, but-"

"Shh," she said, gently cutting him off. "It isn't stupid. They're your parents, Harry. I'm sure they're around to listen."

"You think so?"

"I do." She smiled up at him. "Come on, you can't tell me that you've never felt anything in this house."

He blinked in surprise.

"Well, yes, but I thought that was just me, you know, imagining them," he said. "Maybe remembering something from when I lived here before."

She shook her head.

"No," she murmured, "I think they're here somehow, popping in and out, checking up on the place. You know how I feel about things like that, but I swear someone watches me when I'm painting sometimes. There's never anyone there when I turn around, of course, but the feeling's too strong for me to brush it off as imagination."

She said this so calmly that Harry blinked again, quite taken aback by her readiness to accept such a thing.

"That doesn't frighten you?" he asked.

"Mm, no. It did at first, a little, but after the first few times, I realized that whoever it was wasn't there to hurt me, so I just kept working, and they seemed to leave me to it." She shrugged. "Maybe your parents are happy to see their home being put back together."

"I hope so," said Harry.

A comfortable silence fell between them again. Harry watched the snow outside, more than happy to stay like this for the rest of the evening if it meant that Hermione would stay tucked up against him, holding his hand. He was not accustomed to this kind of closeness, but he was rapidly discovering that he liked it very much.

"Speaking of putting a home together," she eventually said, "I think we should get a Christmas tree soon. We won't be able to do much decorating around the house, with all the work we still need to do, but it wouldn't feel right to spend Christmas without a tree."

"Why not?" Harry agreed. "We'll get a nice big one to put in the window."

She shrugged again.

"Oh, it doesn't have to be big," she said.

"It should be," he said. He felt his face warm again, but it was a pleasant kind of embarrassment. "I mean, this is... you know... our first Christmas as a couple and everything," he explained, giving her a little squeeze to punctuate his point. "Even I understand that that's important. I want it to be good."

She was quiet for a moment before she said, "I like your choice of words there."

"Oh?" he said. She smiled against his chest.

"You said it's our first Christmas together," she said. "That means you're thinking that there'll be more."

Harry's pulse picked up abruptly, leaving a skittering feeling in his chest.

"Well, I mean... I suppose I am." He let go of her hand to adjust his glasses, unsure of what to do with himself. "I'm sorry. I guess it's too early for me to say things like that, right?"

To his surprise, she moved up a little on the couch so that she could prop herself up on top of him, bringing them nose-to-nose. There was a sort of twinkle in her eye that calmed him.

"You know, Harry," she murmured, "you're not as inept at this as you think."

"I'm not? Mmph," was all he managed to say before she led the conversation in a very pleasurable but much less verbal direction.


	5. Out of the Pantry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione invite the Weasley/Lupin clan over for a proper housewarming, but soon find they need a break from the company. They both seek refuge. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special early release to celebrate over 500 hits! I can't thank you all enough for your subs and kudos. They mean a lot and help me stay motivated. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you'll like it as much as I do.

In a single night, the little house in Godric's Hollow was probably seeing more people than it had in the past two decades. Blanketed in a light layer of snow, it was filled to the brim with the gaggle of Weasleys and Lupins that Harry and Hermione called family, all gathered to celebrate the near-completion of the house's transformation into a new home. A few of the rooms still sported only minimal furniture and little in terms of decoration, but the painting was done and the whole house was now perfectly livable, if a bit spartan. As such, a proper housewarming party had seemed appropriate, but Hermione was rapidly starting to feel as though it had been a rather overambitious idea.

It was not that she did not love her big family dearly. They had all helped her find her way in the magical world, accepting her into their fiercely protective, loving circle without a second thought, and she wanted nothing more than to return the favour however she could. That said, she had become accustomed to the calm and quiet of Godric's Hollow, and that wonderful family of hers was _a lot._ Between their sheer number and the effects of more than a few glasses of Firewhiskey, the little house was crowded, jarringly noisy, and a touch too warm for her to be comfortable in her jumper. She found herself squished in between Ginny and Fred at the dining room table, looking across to Harry's empty chair and wondering where he had gone. He had said something about checking on dessert, but it seemed as though that had been quite a while ago.

"Hermione, dear," Molly's voice rose over the din, "it seems we're out of pepper."

Hermione blinked and realized that she had been staring at her plate for some time without touching anything on it. The meal was excellent, not that she was surprised. Harry had turned out to be remarkably skilled in the kitchen, though he insisted that he knew practically nothing about cooking. The lovely roast and fluffy Yorkshire puddings in front of her clearly disagreed.

She glanced up at Molly and found the Weasley matriarch smiling at her, a wooden pepper mill in one hand. Hermione felt a newfound respect for her–Molly presided over Sunday dinners just about every week and never showed a hint of feeling as overwhelmed as Hermione did.

"Of course," she said, pushing herself back from the table while trying not to look too relieved. "There's more in the pantry. I'll be right back."

The temperature dropped noticeably as soon as she crossed into the hallway, and she gratefully pulled her jumper off. It was one of her favourites, soft wool in dark blue and white stripes, but a poor choice in hindsight. Feeling much more comfortable in only her white blouse, she shepherded her hair back behind her ears as she made her way toward the pantry, stopping briefly to toss her jumper over the newel post on the staircase. Something smelled wonderful outside the kitchen door–Harry had said something about making a sticky toffee pudding, and the sweet caramel scent wafting into the hallway was enough to pique Hermione's appetite despite her stress.

She pulled the pantry door open and promptly had to stifle a yelp with one hand. Inside, Harry jumped and dropped his wand, knocking a small bag of pasta off its shelf in the process. They hit the floor with a thump and a clatter, the lit wand throwing shadows wildly around the little room.

"'Mione!" he exclaimed. "I was just... er..."

"Hiding," she said. She could see his cheeks turning pink as he bent and retrieved his wand, and she tried to fight the laugh rising in her chest. Overwhelmed as she was, she could imagine how he was feeling. "You're hiding in the pantry."

"I'm not hiding," he protested. "I'm... getting some air."

"In the pantry." She could not help but chuckle as she stepped into the pantry with him and closed the door. "Here, move over a bit. I want some air, too."

He looked relieved.

"So it isn't just me," he said. "Thank God. I needed some quiet, you know?" 

He set the fallen bag of pasta back in its place. 

"Does that make me a terrible person?" he asked. "I mean, they're my family and I'm happy to be with them, but it's just..." He dragged a hand through his hair, a telltale sign that he was agitated. "It's too much, for some reason."

Feeling a rush of empathy, she put her arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze.

"You aren't a terrible person," she assured him. She brushed her lips against his cheek, enjoying the comforting pressure as he wrapped his free arm around her back. "We've had this place completely to ourselves these past few weeks, Harry. I think we might've got a bit spoiled by all the peace and quiet. Not to mention..."

Her cheeks suddenly felt a bit warm again, even without her jumper.

"Well, we've gotten used to being _us_ , too," she said, "which we can't do with everyone here. To be honest..." Feeling rather shy, she tucked her head into the crook of his neck to avoid meeting his eyes. "I'm finding it more difficult than I thought it would be, pretending nothing's different between us when other people are around. I miss this," she explained, giving him another squeeze to illustrate.

He gently shifted her head from his shoulder and surprised her by kissing her firmly.

"I've wanted to do that all evening," he said when they separated, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine. She knew that Harry cared for her, but he was not often so direct about his feelings–the years of emotional abuse he had endured at the Dursleys' had taken their toll.

"Have you?"

"Yeah. Was driving me mad, honestly." He set his wand on a nearby shelf, freeing up his hands to hug her properly. "'Mione, I think we should just tell them. About us, I mean."

She let out a soft sigh of relief.

"I think so, too. I know it's only been a few weeks, but..." She smiled. "It's working. Really well, actually. I don't see any reason to hide it anymore."

He smiled back and kissed her again. Enjoying the moment, she let her eyes drift closed, which was most likely what prevented her from noticing a sudden brightness in the pantry.

"Well, you certainly aren't going to find the pepper that way," said Molly.

The pair immediately jumped apart, and Hermione's yelp was punctuated by a loud bang as the pantry door slammed in the older witch's face.

"Did you just-?" Harry asked, wide-eyed, staring at the door as though he expected it to fly off its hinges at any moment.

"Not on purpose," Hermione muttered. Her face burned. _Accidental magic?_ She had not performed accidental magic since before she had received her Hogwarts letter.

She reached out and opened the door again, revealing an amused-looking Molly waiting patiently in the hallway. She still had the pepper mill in one hand.

"I thought you might have forgotten about the pepper, dear, so I thought I would just look for it myself," Molly said cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind."

"Oh. Er, not at all," Harry said. He looked around for a moment before plucking something from one of the shelves. Hermione was shocked when she saw what it was. He had actually located the jar of pepper and was holding it out to Molly with a bewildered expression on his face.

There was a beat of silence before Hermione started to laugh. What else could she do? After a moment, Harry chuckled and set the jar back on the shelf.

"You... I suppose you don't want the pepper, do you?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Not exactly," said Molly. "I'm much more interested in what's been going on in the dark in here for the past ten minutes."

Hermione supposed that something must have shown on her and Harry's faces, because Molly's expression soon softened and she beckoned them out from the pantry.

"I'm only teasing you, dears," she said more gently as they stepped into the hallway. "There's no need to look so terrified. You certainly haven't done anything wrong. Though I would be interested in knowing how long this has been going on," she added with a gesture that indicated the two of them.

Harry reached out and took Hermione's hand.

"Just a few weeks," he said. He looked away sheepishly. "We were going to tell everyone; we just wanted to-"

Molly held up a hand and shook her head, silencing him.

"You don't need to justify anything to me, Harry," she said. "I may love you two like my children, but you're adults all the same. What you do in your own home isn't anyone's business but yours. And, frankly," she continued with a grin, "I've been expecting this to happen for a long time now."

"You have?" said Hermione, surprised. It was true that she had had feelings for Harry for a while, but she had always tried to conceal them as best she could, not wanting to cause awkwardness between herself and her best friend. It was a little disconcerting to think that others might have noticed.

Molly chuckled.

"Hermione, I've seen couples married for decades who are less devoted to each other than the two of you," she said. "You've always been good for each other–and good _to_ each other, even in the worst of times. That kind of love doesn't exactly grow on trees, so, yes, I imagined it would eventually turn into something more. But I'm embarrassing you." She reached out to lay a hand on each of their shoulders. "You take your time telling the others, all right? Your secret is safe with me."

The young couple glanced at each other.

"Well, actually," Hermione said with a grin, "we'd only just decided that it was about time to tell everyone when you..."

"Oh, wonderful!" Molly exclaimed, giving the pair a tight hug that squashed them together in her embrace. "How lovely. I'll go back to the table before they start to wonder where we've all gone, yes? You take however long you need."

She released them, and Hermione felt a surge of gratitude and affection for her when she caught a glimpse of the look of motherly pride on Molly's face before she hurried back down the hallway. After a moment, Harry blew out a breath.

"Well, that was something," he said.

"You can say that again." Hermione took his hand back in hers. "Well, then. I guess it's time. Are you ready?"

He laughed. "God, no."

"Me, neither," she said. "But then, how often does this kind of thing happen when we're ready for it?" She gave his hand a squeeze and began to lead him toward the dining room. "Flying by the seat of our pants is kind of our thing."

"Fair enough, but if we walk in and there's a dragon or a pack of Dementors, you're on your own. Kidding, kidding!" he added when she bumped him with her shoulder.

"Come on, you silly fool," she said, and they walked back into the crowded, noisy dining room hand-in-hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you had fun.  
> This chapter marks the first departure from the original published version of "Snippets," and there will be more new content to come soon! The tradeoff is that I actually have to write that new content, so the update schedule might be a little less regular for coming chapters. Please bear with me!  
> If you liked it, it would mean a lot if you could take a moment now to let me know in the comments. It's always wonderful to hear from any of you lovely readers.


	6. Christmas Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione decorate Godric's Hollow for Christmas. Harry sheds some light on Christmas at the Dursleys', and mysterious things happen in the living room.

"Here we are," Harry announced cheerfully.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to find him setting two steaming mugs of hot chocolate down on the coffee table. She was immediately struck by the rich scent and hurried to finish hanging a section of garland along the windowsill with a few Sticking Charms. As usual, Harry seemed to have gone the extra mile when it came to his cooking—this was no cheap, powdered hot cocoa, but the real thing, made with lots of melted chocolate and cream and perfected with a sprinkle of marshmallows.

"Careful," he added when she picked up her mug, "it's hot."

She nodded and gently blew across the top of the mug, taking the opportunity to warm her hands on the sides. It was snowing again, and the temperature inside the house, while still comfortable, was markedly chillier than usual.

"What do you think so far?" she asked with a tilt of her head, indicating the bit of decorating she had already completed in the living room. Forest green garlands adorned the mantle, the windowsill, and the banister on the staircase. A small centrepiece made of holly, with a large white votive candle nestled within the leaves, sat on the coffee table. The impressive fir tree that they had picked out together a few days earlier was tucked into a corner next to the front window, smelling heavenly but still devoid of any baubles.

Harry grinned as he scanned the room.

"It looks great," he said. He took a sip of his hot chocolate and set the mug back down. "Ready to get started on the tree?"

She chuckled.

"You're excited for that part, aren't you?" She set her own mug down on the coffee table and moved to pick up one of the boxes of red and gold balls that they had stacked beside the tree. Harry shrugged as he joined her, selecting a box of green ornaments.

"Well, it'll be fun to learn how to do it, is all," he said.

Hermione froze.

"Wait..." she said. "You mean you've never decorated a Christmas tree before?"

"Hm? Oh, no," he said casually. He pulled out one of the shiny green balls and examined the metal hook on top. "So, do we start from the top or the bottom?"

"Hang on." Hermione set her box of ornaments down in a nearby armchair. "Didn't the Dursleys celebrate Christmas?" she asked. "They must have had a tree."

Even with her limited knowledge of Harry's life before she had met him, she imagined she already knew the answer, but she wanted him to tell her that she was wrong.

"They did, yeah." Harry glanced at her. "You okay? You look upset all of a sudden."

Realizing that she was clenching her jaw, Hermione blew out a breath and picked the box of ornaments up again.

"I'm okay," she assured him. "I just... I forget what they were like to you, sometimes. They wouldn't have let you help with the decorating, would they? I should have thought of that. And you can start wherever you like," she added. "Just try not to put a bunch of the same colour all in one place."

He nodded and carefully hung one of the green balls on the tree.

"It wasn't a big deal, 'Mione," he said. "Actually, it was one of the only things that I wasn't really left out of. My aunt did all of the decorating herself—it had to be perfect, so no one else could touch anything, or they might ruin it. She had a system, you know? The same decorations in the same place every year."

Hermione made a face as she hung a red ball on an empty branch.

"That's an awful way to do Christmas," she said. "Decorating the tree was always the best part of the holidays for me. My parents let me help as soon as I was tall enough to reach most of the branches. It looked different every year, which was part of the fun. I guess it _was_ a bit of a mess, sometimes," she mused, "but we always had a great time as a family."

Harry smiled.

"That sounds wonderful," he said. "I think that's how Christmas should be. Honestly, before I got to Hogwarts, I didn't understand what the big deal was about it. It was like any other time for me."

Again, he said this so casually that Hermione had to pause and take a breath. She knew about Harry's past on an intellectual level, but it still broke her heart when he told her things that revealed how the Dursleys' mistreatment had affected him.

"Maybe I should stop talking about that," he said, and she glanced over to find him looking at her with a slightly concerned expression. "This is supposed to be fun, after all. I don't want to upset you."

She sighed.

"No, no," she said. "It isn't your fault." She hung one of the gold balls on the tree next to one of Harry's green ones. "I'm glad that you feel comfortable enough to talk about it with me, and I think it's important that you do, but..."

She set her box of ornaments down and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Well, it's just hard for me to think about how they treated you," she said. "You deserved so much better than them. You deserved a proper family, people who actually cared about you. You were just a child; you deserved Christmas." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and let him go. "Anyway. You're right: this is supposed to be fun."

To clear her head, she picked her mug up and took a long sip of hot chocolate before returning to the tree.

"I’ve got it now, you know," he said after a few minutes of quiet work.

"Tree decorating? You’re a natural," she said lightly. His lips quirked.

"I’m not, and we both know it. I think this half might have far too much green. But I meant a family," he explained. “A proper one, like you said. I've got you, the Weasleys, Remus and Tonks... It just took longer than usual."

She smiled as she hung another ball on the tree. "Well, I'm glad you feel that way. We're all very happy to get to be your family." She poked her head around to his side of the tree to grin at him. "Me especially, but don't tell the others."

He chuckled at that, and her momentary discomfort dissipated as they worked on the tree over the next half-hour, taking occasional breaks to enjoy their hot chocolate and check their progress from different angles. Eventually, all of the ornament boxes sat empty on the sofa, and the young couple stood proudly in front of their creation, admiring the assortment of glimmering baubles. In the interest of not alarming their Muggle neighbours, they had forgone the more outlandish magical decorations—such as the glass balls containing live fairies often found on Hogwarts' trees—but they had sneakily added a few inconspicuous ones. The tree featured a smattering of crystalline icicles that glittered from time to time even when completely stationary, a fine substitute for the electric Muggle Christmas lights to which both Harry and Hermione were accustomed. Additionally, several small, golden ornaments were tucked among the branches, looking entirely mundane until they occasionally moved on their own—a snowman that tipped its cap, bells that swung, and tiny angels with wings that flapped.

"Not bad, don't you think?" Hermione said, stretching her back. She glanced over at Harry and felt a swell of affection for him. His expression as he admired their handiwork was one of pure, unguarded wonder and pride.

"I think it's perfect," he said. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Thank you for doing this. I know it probably would've gone faster without me getting in the way, but-"

"Harry," she cut him off gently, "the whole point was to do it together, and you did a lovely job. Not to mention it was fun," she added with a grin. "The house looks properly festive now, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "It looks great. We've just got to do the mantle and it'll be ready for Christmas."

"Right," she said. She gestured at a large white box on an end table, set apart from the others. She had carefully placed it there by hand while sorting through the decorations. Unlike the rest of the boxes, its contents were too delicate to risk levitating or Summoning. "That seemed like something you should do, so I kept it aside."

Harry went over to the box and carefully opened it before lifting out two small white candles in glass holders. He set these on the mantle and returned to the box for a framed photograph, which he placed in between the candles. It depicted his mother and father seated in front of the same fireplace, smiling at the camera. James wore a lopsided Father Christmas hat, underneath which a spray of messy black hair was visible. In Lily's arms was a tiny, chubby Harry in striped pyjamas, only five months old, looking inquisitively at a stuffed toy owl and displaying the beginnings of an equally unruly head of hair.

"I love that picture." Hermione slid her arms around Harry's waist and tucked her head against his shoulder. She knew that while Harry treasured all of the photos he had of his parents, it could be difficult for him to look at them. "They were such a happy couple. And you were an adorable baby, of course."

"Thanks," he murmured. He shifted her slightly in his arms and rested his cheek on top of her head as he returned her embrace. After a few moments of silence, she gave him a gentle squeeze.

"Everything okay?" she asked. He sighed.

"Yeah. Yeah, I just... wish I could remember that time with them," he explained. "I only have bits and pieces, and I'm not even sure all of the things I do remember actually happened. If not for the pictures, I'd hardly know anything about them other than that they were in the Order. Which is great, of course," he said quickly. "It's great to know that they were brave, and they were willing to do the right thing even when it was difficult and dangerous, but... Well, it would be nice to know more about who they were as people. No one seems to talk about that."

She nodded against his chest.

"That would be nice. You could always talk to Remus," she suggested. "I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you about them." Studying the photograph again, she smiled at the sight of the couple and their infant son. She was struck by how much Harry resembled his father. The young, bespectacled man in the picture had the same lopsided grin she saw every day. "Given what I know about the Marauders, I'd imagine he has plenty of stories. They were quite the pack of hell-raisers. Smart as whips, though," she added. As much as Hermione believed in rules and order, she had to respect the combination of advanced magic and dogged determination that had led the band of mischief-makers to create something as complex as the Marauders' Map.

Harry chuckled from above her head.

"They were that. I wonder what happened when they added my mum to the group—Slughorn said she had a talent for Potions. I can only imagine what they could have got up to with her on their side."

"Your mum was a Prefect," Hermione said. "I doubt she would've helped them all that much... What's so funny?" she asked when he snorted softly.

" _You_ were a Prefect, and you robbed a bank and stole a dragon," he pointed out. Hermione blushed.

"That was entirely different," she protested. "That was to help end the War, and besides, that dragon was being terribly mistreated and deserved to escape."

He chuckled again and tipped her chin up to give her a kiss.

"Thank you," he murmured. "For making me laugh. It helped."

He let her go and stepped up to the mantle, lighting the candles with a flick of his wand above them and producing two bright, steady flames.

"You're right about talking to Remus," he continued. "I've never asked him much because I was worried it would be too difficult for him to talk about, but maybe it's time we all started trying to focus on how they lived, rather than how they died."

Abruptly, all of the little golden bells on the tree jingled at once, causing both Harry and Hermione to whirl around in surprise. They stared at the tree in anticipation, but nothing else happened.

"That was... odd," Hermione decided. As they watched, one of the ornaments swung gently and made its usual soft, clear sound, but that was all.

"Maybe a draft?" Harry suggested. He walked over to the tree and rang one of the bells with a fingertip. "Well, they're pretty solid, so maybe not. Strange."

"Strange," she agreed. They watched for a moment more before she shrugged. "Well. Want to decorate the staircase, as well? I'll show you a charm to make everlasting icicles."

Harry smiled.

"Brilliant," he said. "You wouldn't happen to know a spell to make it snow inside, would you? That would look amazing over the stairs."

"It would also be a slip and fall hazard," she said as they walked toward the staircase.

"Not if you did it so that the snow would disappear before it hit the steps," Harry insisted. "You could have it stop right overhead. It would look great."

"I don't know a spell to make it snow inside."

"We could look one up. They did it at Hogwarts, didn't they?" Harry was properly determined now. "It's probably a charm, like the ceiling in the Great Hall. You've got lots of Advanced Charms books..."

The couple's voices faded away as they climbed the stairs. Behind them, in the quiet living room, the candles on the mantle flickered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the delay in getting this one out. It languished for weeks as a result of writer's block, my real job, and an emergency involving one of my pets that claimed an entire weekend (said pet is all right now; my fellow animal-lovers need not worry). I hope you enjoyed it, and if it's any consolation, the next installment is well on its way!
> 
> As always, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.


	7. Christmas Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas morning in Godric's Hollow. Hermione uses some of her Gryffindor courage, and the young couple exchange gifts, enjoying their first Christmas together.

Harry opened his eyes to dim, predawn light glowing softly on crimson walls. He felt a moment's confusion, expecting the familiar pale blue of his bedroom, before remembering where he was. The warm weight next to him under the sheets confirmed it, and he smiled as he reached for his glasses on the nightstand.

Hermione was still asleep, her soft, even breathing the only thing he could hear in the early-morning quiet. He felt a rush of affection as he studied her peaceful expression. She lay curled on her side, facing him, with one arm draped across his torso. Her hair tumbled over her bare shoulders, and he reached out to carefully brush a few curls away from her face. For a moment, her breathing hitched, and he lay very still until it evened out again, not wanting to wake her. Then, slowly, he eased out of the bed and drew the covers up around her to keep her from getting cold.

After pulling the previous night's trousers back on, he padded down the hallway into his bedroom and exchanged them for a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt before making his way downstairs to the kitchen. Outside, in the distinct grey winter light, snow was drifting slowly earthward—a fitting backdrop for Christmas morning, in Harry's opinion.

Taking care to avoid making too much noise as he opened and closed the cupboards, he began to prepare a pot of coffee, knowing that Hermione would come looking for it when she woke. Her need for caffeine in the morning was just one of the many things he had learned about her since they had moved in together.

He smiled at the thought. He had never imagined, when he had first invited her to come to Godric's Hollow with him, that it would lead to so much more. In just a couple of months, their friendship had grown into a relationship that, while it still scared the hell out of him at times, was working incredibly well. They had worked together to make a home for themselves, a home to which Harry could not wait to return at the end of each day. He looked forward to walking through the front door and getting started on supper, knowing that she would be there soon and they would get to spend the evening together, even when that simply meant sharing a meal and then drifting into the living room with books and tea to wind down before bed.

His cheeks prickled with a mixture of shyness and pleasure as he set the water to boiling with a wave of his wand, reflecting on their sleeping arrangements. For the past few weeks, they had ended their evenings with a hug and a kiss goodnight before retiring to their separate bedrooms, but today, they had taken a significant step forward when he had spent the night in the master with her. He very much wanted to keep waking up next to her, whether it involved an encore of the previous night's events or not.

In the distance, church bells began to ring, pulling Harry from his thoughts. At the same moment, a floorboard creaked softly nearby, and he turned to find the wild-haired witch who had just been occupying those thoughts now occupying the kitchen doorway, leaning against the door frame and grinning at him. He swallowed hard—apparently, she had not been interested in revisiting the previous night's clothing, and had instead shrugged a robe on over his old Quidditch jersey, leaving the robe's belt undone.

"Happy Christmas," she said.

"Happy Christmas." It came out a little more roughly than he had intended, and he cleared his throat before adding, "Aren't you going to be cold in that?"

Her grin turned devious.

"Not if you come back upstairs," she said. Suddenly, Harry's t-shirt felt much too warm.

"Don't you want to open your presents?" he asked a little weakly. He was still trying to process the unexpected appearance of a partially-clothed woman with "POTTER" emblazoned in gold across her chest. She chuckled as she crossed the kitchen and slid her arms around his neck.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she asked. She gave him a long kiss before adding, "So? Are you coming back to bed or not?"

Harry, who was feeling rather light-headed by this point, could only manage, "Right. Merlin. Yeah."

She laughed as she took his hand and pulled him back toward the stairs.

"You always know just what to say, Harry."

~*~

The sun was properly up by the time Harry got out of bed again, joined by Hermione this time around. She had showered and pulled on a pair of flannel pyjamas, somewhat to his disappointment. He could not blame her, though—they had neglected the fireplaces all morning, leaving the old house noticeably chilly.

He made his way downstairs and stoked the living room hearth while she went in search of a cup of coffee. By the time he had perked the fire up enough to send a pleasant warmth out into the room, she had reappeared with not one cup, but two. He was unsurprised, as he accepted one from her, to discover that she had added a liberal amount of cream but no sugar, exactly how he would have made it for himself.

They settled down on the couch together, and he held up his mug with a grin, prompting her to lightly tap her own against it.

"Cheers," he said. "Happy Christmas."

She chuckled. "You've already said that."

"Yes, well," he said, raising an eyebrow at her, "Christmas kind of got put on hold, didn't it? So I figured I would say it again to be sure."

He caught a glimpse of her blushing before she hid her face behind her coffee mug under the pretense of taking another sip.

"Didn't hear you complaining," she mumbled. He leaned over to kiss her cheek, which was tellingly warm.

"Just teasing, 'Mione," he said more gently, not wanting to embarrass her too much. Hermione might be the more confident one in their relationship most of the time, but he knew that it had still taken a great deal of bravery and trust for his normally reserved, modest girlfriend to invite him upstairs when they returned from Christmas dinner at The Burrow. "No complaints here."

She relaxed.

"Good," she murmured. She glanced at him over her coffee, a little smile playing on her lips. "None from me, either," she added, her grin widening when she succeeded in making him blush in turn.

"Well. Good, then." He took a large sip of coffee and cleared his throat before pushing himself up from the couch to search through the small pile of gifts under the tree. They had both insisted that the other should not go to the trouble of getting much in terms of presents, given that they already lived together and would just buy whatever they needed when they needed it—and, of course, neither of them had listened. It was easy enough to find his gifts to Hermione based on the amount of Spellotape. He had no idea how hers were staying wrapped.

"Here, you first." He handed her a rectangular package wrapped in shiny gold paper.

She looked it over for a moment.

"Are you sure you want me to open this?" she teased him, indicating the long strips of Spellotape covering the box. "It looks like you put a lot of effort into keeping me from doing that."

"Not all of us know whatever sort of magic you used on yours," he said as he sat back down on the sofa. "Go on, open it."

She obliged, revealing a pair of gloves, a hat, and a scarf, all knitted from wool in a deep shade of blue.

"I know it seems like a bit of a boring gift," Harry explained, "but they've all got charmed thread sewn into them, see?" He turned over the cuff of one of the gloves to show her the thin silver lines running through it. "It's a Notice-Me-Not charm, so you can walk around Diagon Alley without anybody bothering you. It's strongest if you wear all three pieces, but it'll still work if you only wear one or two."

"Really?" She picked up the hat and turned over the cuff, revealing more of the silver thread. "That's fascinating. I wonder how they make it permanent." Leaning over, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. They're lovely, too, even without the charm."

"Well, you always look nice in blue. Here," he added quickly, "let me get you another one." He liked giving her compliments, but he still found it a bit embarrassing, so having an excuse to get up helped.

"You don't want to open one of yours?" Hermione asked as he looked through the pile again.

"I will, in a bit. Oh, here we are." He hefted a large box wrapped in silver paper and set it down in front of the couch. "That one's heavy, so you might want to open it down there."

"Merlin." She got down from the couch and sat cross-legged on the floor next to the box. "What is it, a cinder block? Or a small anvil?"

Harry chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. "Go on, then."

She obliged, pulling off the paper to reveal a thick hard-cover book, bound in leather and about the size of a large encyclopaedia. Recessed gold lettering on the front cover read, _Standard Compendium of Spells – The Essential Household Reference_.

Hermione grinned up at him from the floor. "You got me a book," she said teasingly.

"I got you a really big book," he said. "And, technically, it's seven books."

She turned the large tome over and opened it to the last few pages. "That is one hell of an index," she said. "Alphabetically, by grade, or by function."

"Thought you'd like that." Harry was very proud of that particular gift. "Your old schoolbooks were looking a bit rough around the edges, so I thought I'd get you a nicer replacement. It's got some really good diagrams, as well."

She closed the book with a solid thump and smiled at him.

"I love it," she declared. "And now I'd really like to give you one, because you're going to laugh."

She got up and looked through the gifts under the tree before selecting one neatly wrapped in shiny red paper. Harry was surprised by its weight when she handed it to him.

" _You_ got _me_ a small anvil," he joked. Turning it over, he discovered two tiny pieces of Spellotape that appeared to be holding the entire thing together. "I still don't understand how that's possible."

Hermione sipped her coffee. "A good magician never reveals her secrets," she said.

Harry lifted the two pieces of tape and the wrapping paper came off in a tidy sheet, revealing a large book with a red leather cover. He turned it over to read the title: _Advanced Defensive Spellcasting – The Complete Guide to Self-Protection, Counter-Curses, and Field First Aid_.

He grinned. "You got me a book."

"I did, though it’s not quite as big. That's the same one we used in Auror training," Hermione explained. "I imagine you might find the first-aid section a bit simplistic, but the rest is excellent. It's got a great section on home protection that I think you'll enjoy. You've always had a talent for defensive magic. Plus," she added with a playful nudge, "we haven't had a good duel in a while."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you saying you want to fight me?"

"Oh, don't say that like it's a given you'll win. You're good," she conceded, "but you're out of practice. I might not have finished training, but I learned plenty in the time I was there." She grinned deviously and sipped her coffee again. "We have a perfectly good cellar, you know."

"We just finished renovating this place, and now you want to blow up the cellar." Harry chuckled. "It's a good idea, though. It wouldn't hurt either of us to stay sharp, and it would be fun if you taught me some of what you learned in training."

"Gladly." She got up from the sofa and returned to the tree. "Let’s see, now. I’ve got something else here… Ah."

She picked up a small package and handed it to him. This one weighed practically nothing.

"It doesn’t look like much, I know," she said, "but I think you’ll like it."

He pulled the deep blue paper off to reveal a slim black box. There was nothing on it to indicate what might be inside, so he simply went ahead and opened it. Inside was a flat expanse of neatly folded white tissue paper. He lifted a corner of it, caught a glimpse of the thick, gilded paper within, and stared at her.

"What did you do?"

She smiled innocently as she settled back down onto the sofa. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Just open it."

Slowly, in disbelief, he lifted the top flap of paper the rest of the way, confirming his suspicions. Laid side by side in the little box were two tickets, intricately embossed and accented with gold. Bold black letters in the centre proclaimed, _423rd QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP_. Smaller print underneath added, _First Class_ , but that had already been evident to Harry from the characteristic gilded paper.

He looked up at her again and found her grinning at him.

"What did you _do_?" he repeated. "First class tickets have been sold out for more than a month now."

"I know." She looked markedly smug.

"Who did you kill?"

She laughed. "I didn't kill anybody, Harry. You can generally avoid having to murder people by planning ahead. I've had those-" she nodded at the tickets "-since before we moved in. You were driving me mad these past few weeks," she added, giving his shoulder a gentle shove, "hemming and hawing over whether you were going to pick up some of the standard tickets that were left. I thought these ones were going to burst into flames in my closet."

He pulled one of the tickets out of the box, running his fingers over the embossed design. The World Cup was grand enough to begin with, but first-class tickets were fiercely coveted, granting the holder early access to the stadium each day and entitling them to reserved camping areas where only a few tents could be pitched, among other perks.

They were also incredibly expensive. He set the ticket back down.

"Hermione, this is too much..." he started, but she made a negative sound and waved a hand before he could get any further.

"None of that," she said. "They're a gift; I've been waiting for weeks to give them to you, and I want you to have them."

"But-" he tried again, but she raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed, knowing she had made up her mind. "All right." He leaned over to give her a kiss. "They're wonderful. Thank you."

He chuckled as a thought occurred to him.

"You don't even like Quidditch," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"Why does everyone always say that? I've never once said that I don't like Quidditch; I'm just not obsessed with it."

"And you're afraid of flying."

"There's also that," she agreed. "Besides, they're for you, not me," she added, nodding at the little box.

He looked at her quizzically.

"Well, you're coming, aren't you?" he asked.

"That's up to you," she said. "It's your present, Harry. You can bring whoever you like."

"I like you. You’ll go, won’t you?" He pecked her on the cheek again and got up to fetch her next gift. "It would be nice to take a little vacation together, and there are other things to do besides the Quidditch itself."

"If that’s what you want, I’d love to go. What’s this, now?" she asked as he handed her a small black box tied shut with a silver bow.

"Not a dragon," he quipped. "Open it and see."

She rolled her eyes at him and undid the bow before lifting the top off of the box. Inside was a finely crafted silver necklace, with a pendant in the shape of an owl with outstretched wings suspended on a delicate chain. Two small blue jewels were set into the pendant to represent the owl’s eyes.

"It’s beautiful, Harry." Hermione carefully lifted the necklace out of the box to study the details on the silver owl. "Look at that. You can even see all of the feathers." She held it out to him and smiled. "Put it on for me?"

"Of course." He accepted the necklace and she turned around on the sofa, holding her curls out of the way. "I’m glad you like it," he said as he fastened the clasp behind her neck, "but this is only part of your present."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm." He grinned, excited to finally get to reveal the surprise he had been keeping to himself for weeks. "The necklace is just a sort of placeholder for the moment. I thought the holidays would be a bit too crazy, but once things calm down a bit, I’d like to take you to Diagon Alley so you can pick out an owl."

She quickly turned to face him, and the mixture of surprise and delight in her expression made him feel triumphant.

"Are you serious?" she asked.

"Yeah. I thought it was about time you had one of your own- Oof," he said when she hugged him firmly.

"Thank you." She kissed his cheek and pulled back, grinning. "That’s a wonderful gift. It’s too much, but I haven’t exactly got a leg to stand on in that area, so I’ll settle for saying it’s wonderful. I can’t wait."

A knock at the front door surprised both of them.

"I wonder who that could be?" Hermione got up and went to answer the door with Harry trailing behind her. Outside, they discovered a snow-dusted Molly holding several covered dishes.

"Happy Christmas, dears," she said cheerfully. "I hope I’m not interrupting, but I thought you might like some breakfast."

"Happy Christmas, Molly. Please, come in," Hermione said, ushering her inside. "That’s very generous; thank you. Would you like some coffee? Tea, maybe?"

"Oh, I can’t stay long, but… Well, I suppose a cup of tea would be all right," Molly decided. "It’s awfully nice and quiet here," she explained with a sheepish sort of smile.

Harry chuckled. "I completely understand. Tea it is. Here, let me take those for you," he added with a gesture at the dishes.

"Don’t trouble yourself, dear," said Molly. "I’ll set them down in the kitchen, yes? Oh, and by the way..." she added with a grin and a glance upward as they entered the hallway.

Harry looked up to discover a small bunch of mistletoe hanging above them.

"Did you…?" he asked Hermione, who was also looking at the mistletoe.

"You didn’t?" she replied. "One of us must’ve..."

They looked at it for a moment more, as though it would explain itself. When no explanation came, Harry shrugged.

"Well, works for me," he said. Not needing much of an excuse, he slipped his arms around Hermione’s waist and pulled her in for a kiss. Molly chuckled at them and continued down the hallway to the kitchen.

"We’ll do the rest of the presents later, yeah?" he murmured when they separated. Hermione smiled.

"Sounds good. Hold on," she added when he started to let her go. He caught the twinkle in her eye and grinned.

"Pretty sure we only have to do it once for the mistletoe," he said. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you actually complaining?"

"Not at all." He tipped her chin up and kissed her again to prove his point. Happy Christmas, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! That was a long one, but I loved writing it. A little Christmas in July (and August) is always a fun time. I hope you all enjoyed it as well. Comments are, as always, deeply appreciated.


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